Chapter Nineteen
Jules
Corbin is standing on the step ladder, arms raised over his head as he secures the final piece of garland for Tate’s balloon arch. I know I shouldn’t be checking him out. But as I grip the ladder—strictly to ensure he doesn’t fall, of course—my eyes betray me.
The dark wash jeans hug his hips just right, the hunter green pullover stretching taut across his broad shoulders. And God help me, he smells amazing. Cologne, fresh laundry, and that unmistakable scent of Corbin.
Something in my chest hiccups, my pulse skipping offbeat, but I shove it down and look up—at his face, not his body—just as he steps down.
"All done," he says, collapsing the ladder with practiced ease. "I’ll put this in the back."
I lick my lips as I watch him go. Rein it in, Jules.
There are eyes everywhere. Connie and Sarge behind the counter. Tate, who’s been basking in the extra time we’ve been spending together. And Deanna. Watching like a hawk.
We just have to get through today. Then life will return to normal.
Maybe.
Do I even want it to?
The last two weeks have been unexpected. I’ve found myself thinking about Corbin more than I should. And not just in that lingering, nostalgic way. In a way that has me questioning everything.
He’s different now. More present. More intentional.
Spending this much time with him again is reminding me why I fell in love with him in the first place.
Solid. Steady. The kind of man who lined up galleries for me when I wasn’t even looking. The best father Tate could ever have.
But what about us?
Is there an us?
Do I want there to be?
"You doing alright?"
I startle slightly, turning to find Deanna watching me, sharp-eyed as ever.
I swallow hard. “Yeah, just making sure everything is perfect.”
“Thank you for the invite,” Deanna says warmly. “I appreciate that you always include me.”
She reaches out and lightly squeezes my hand, a small but familiar gesture.
“You’re Corbin’s grandma,” I remind her. “You’re always invited.”
Deanna smiles, but there’s something thoughtful in her expression. “Tate seems to be adjusting quite well to your weekly family dinners.”
I click my tongue. “He does enjoy them.”
“There is nothing more important than family.”
I nod, reading between the lines. She wants Corbin and me back together.
Deanna took our divorce the hardest. When we told her, she burst into tears. She said she loved and supported us, but I could tell she was devastated. She wanted us to fight harder, to fix what was broken.
The door chimes.
I turn, and my forced smile falters.
Mr. Banks waltzes inside, a gift in hand. One I’m sure his assistant picked out.
I don’t want to greet him. But this is my coffee shop. And this is Tate’s birthday party.
So, I muster up the biggest fake smile I can manage and step forward.
Corbin beats me to him, but I still manage to get out a polite, “Thank you for coming.”
Mr. Banks barely acknowledges us. His eyes are locked onto his ex-wife.
Unlike Corbin, Mr. Banks doesn’t play nice with the woman he was once married to.
I clear my throat and motion toward the back. “Food and refreshments are on the far wall.”
His gaze finally shifts to me, his expression unimpressed as he takes in a few patrons seated at tables. “Don’t tell me you’re still open for business while having your son’s birthday party.”
I take a deep breath. “Yes, we are.”
“Ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath as he makes his way toward the present table.
Beside me, Corbin exhales a long, suffering sigh.
“I hate him,” he groans.
I give his arm—his very warm, very toned arm—a light squeeze. “It’s just for a few hours.”
He scoffs. “I spend all week at the office with him. What’s a few more hours of torture on the weekends?”
Despite myself, I laugh.
Then, someone says Corbin’s name.
I turn, and a petite woman with pink-rimmed glasses is smiling up at him like she knows him.
Why does she know him?
“Pearla,” Corbin greets her with a smile.
And then, they hug.
A hug?
I blink, my stomach twisting unexpectedly.
“So glad you and Leo could make it,” Corbin says.
Oh.
Leo’s mom. Tate’s friend.
Pearla turns to me, her smile polite but too tight, too measured.
“Jules,” she says, extending her hand. “So nice to finally meet you. You’re a legend at the elementary school. All people talk about is how talented your decorations are for the Halloween Festival.”
My laugh comes out a little too quick. “They do?”
“They do,” Corbin confirms, his tone almost teasing. Then, he asks, “You hungry?”
Pearla nods. “Oh yes.”
Corbin leads her toward the refreshments table and leaves me standing here, alone, wondering what the hell just happened.
I go through the motions.
Smiling. Serving food. Thanking every guest who gushes about how cute the coffee shop is. Pointing people to the restroom. Refilling the lemonade and tea containers like it’s my sole purpose in life.
We play games. Pin the Rattle on the Snake. Snakes and Ladders. The kids are completely enthralled with the little ceramic snake figurines I found for them to paint. Presents.
Everyone seems to be having a good time.
Especially Pearla.
She’s managed to spend the entire party glued to Corbin’s side, talking his ear off. And the worst part? He doesn’t seem to mind.
Not one bit.
I nearly drop a stack of paper plates when I hear it.
Corbin laughs.
A big, hearty laugh. The kind I haven’t heard in years. The kind that makes my stomach twist in ways I refuse to analyze.
Does he like her?
They seem friendly. Too friendly.
I subtly glance at her hand. No ring.
Is this something he’s pursuing? Does she want him to?
I don’t have time for these questions.
Not now. Not while we’re about to cut the cake.
Sarge emerges from the kitchen, carrying the showstopper.
A three-tiered, green cake, decorated with fondant scales and a sparkler flickering on top. The kids cheer as we all gather around Tate.
We sing.
Tate closes his eyes, makes a wish, and blows out the candle in one big breath.
I forgot to take a photo.
But Pearla doesn’t.
I catch the moment just in time. The way she leans toward Corbin, phone in hand, smiling as she whispers something to him.
Then, just loud enough for me to hear, “I’ll text it to you.”
I swallow hard, forcing a smile, but something ugly and sharp coils in my chest.
The kids play a little longer while I start cleaning up the refreshments table. Deanna drifts over, watching me carefully. She’s been holding something back all afternoon, and now that we’re alone, she finally speaks.
“Who is that woman?”
I don’t have to ask who she’s referring to. My gaze flicks toward Pearla and Corbin. He’s refilling her cup of lemonade, completely at ease, like they’ve been doing this for years.
“She’s Leo’s mom,” I answer as casually as I can. “Tate’s friend.”
Deanna hums, unimpressed. “And you’re okay with that?”
Am I? No. Absolutely not. But I went out with Trey. Can I really be upset that Corbin might be seeing someone else?
“I just want Corbin to be happy,” I say instead.
“Bullshit.”
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “I’m being honest here.”
“You don’t think about it?” she presses. “You and Corbin?”
I shrug. “He made his choice. And I’ve always respected it.”
Deanna takes her time folding up the neon green tablecloth, not looking at me as she says, “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Julianne.”
I clench my jaw, gripping the edge of the table. “We get along. We work well together.”
“ Because there’s no one else in the picture. ” Deanna tosses the words out so casually, like she isn’t dropping a grenade between us. “What happens when he really moves on?”
You mean like Susan? Or one of his other post-divorce flings? I dealt with that already. This is different. Pearla is different.
I don’t answer, and Deanna doesn’t push. But before she turns away, she murmurs, “Don’t let him get away a second time, Jules. I know he’s still in love with you. And by the way I keep catching you looking at him, I think you’re still in love with him, too.”
I force a smile and pretend like her words don’t gut me.
She walks off, but my eyes betray me, immediately finding Corbin.
He’s still there with Pearla. Still smiling. Still engaged. And the jealous, ugly thing inside me claws at my insides.
I don’t want to be jealous. I don’t want to care. But I do. And maybe I didn’t realize just how much until today.
I grab some cleaning supplies and duck into the back. Take a deep breath. Steady myself. I can do this. I can be the bigger person.
When I return, Tate is practically bouncing off the walls, a wrapped rectangular box in front of him.
“Mom!” he shouts. “Dad said you guys got me something really cool.”
The excitement in his voice brings a smile to my lips, momentarily distracting me from my own swirling emotions.
“Open it,” I encourage, setting the supplies down.
He tears off a strip of paper and screams. “It’s a snake! A real snake!”
The tank is already set up with the perfect environment inside, just like Corbin promised. Tate’s jumping up and down, rattling off everything he already knows about caring for it.
I should be just as excited as he is. I should be soaking in his joy.
But my stomach is still knotted too tight.
And then Corbin’s hand finds me.
Just the lightest touch, a familiar weight at my waist, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of my dress. A touch I once knew by heart . A touch that still has the power to wreck me.
“This was okay, right?” he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant.
I can feel Pearla’s eyes on us. Watching. Assessing.
I quickly step away from him. “Yeah, it’s great,” I say a little too bright, a little too forced. “But it’s staying at your house.”
Then I turn and flee into the back room, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Because for one reckless second, I almost leaned into him.